Escape
by nikkinor
Summary: KateGibbs, Strawberry Wine series. She wants to escape the burning in her heart that makes her love him.


Title: Escape

Rating: K+

Paring: Kate/Gibbs

Series: Strawberry Wine (2?)

Summary: "She wants to escape the burning in her heart that makes her love him."

Disclaimer: NCIS doesn't belong to me, and it never will.

Spoilers: Reveille, and Bete Noire.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed Observation, comments are what keeps me writing and I just loved reading every single one of them. Thank you to my very wonderful beta read Dreamer20715. Everybody wish me a happy Birthday (in four days)!

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_And fight the tears, with pretty smiles and lies about the times. (So I Thought - Flyleaf)_

She'd spent three days in a grubby hotel on the beach. Three days of eating the continental breakfast in the dinning hall, and pizza and burgers from the places that delivered to the hotel. Three days without a shower, without brushing her teeth, without changing her clothes and without calling her family or friends.

It had seemed like a good idea when she remembered that she'd wanted to go to the beach for over a year now. It had seemed like a nice retreat for a week of forced leave, with sunbathing and swimming in the salty ocean that she loved so much; it was supposed to be a great vacation for a time when she really needed it.

Except she forgot to reserve a room at one of her favorite five star hotels before she left, and she'd found every room in every high-quality hotel filled. For some reason May was the best time to take a trip to the beach and just about everything was packed. She had, after much debate with herself, decided to settle for a cheap nothing of a hotel instead of changing all of her plans and going somewhere else.

It rained her first day there, so sunbathing and swimming had quickly been removed from her list of things to do. A bubble bath was her next thought of something relaxing to do, but the hotel's water had been messed up for some reason and the water was freezing cold. She couldn't take a walk and wasn't in the mood for going shopping or hunting down a nice restaurant.

She didn't really feel like turning on any lights after the sun went down, so she sat on her crusty bed for hours in the dark before she started to think about why she was really here. So she'd spent the first night half crying over the man that had taken her hostage and half crying over the man who broken off a piece of her heart. She wasn't one of those people who cried a lot, but every now and then she'd give herself the privilege of shedding a few tears.

But only every now and then.

It had rained again on the second day and she just sat on the bed and watched the rain come down outside the lone window.

She'd spent that night on the old crunchy hotel bed that felt like they filled it with newspaper. She'd tried laying in every position possible, wrapping herself in the thin blanket in every way; she'd even watched a dull Spanish soap opera for a half hour; but nothing had worked.

She'd kept profound and reflective thinking to a minimum that night, craving the sweet tranquility of pure silence. Playing cards had found their way to her bed and she'd played solitaire for the rest of the night, thinking about her next move, instead of the suffering she'd been through.

She cheats on her strict diet and eats four cinnamon rolls for breakfast the next morning, but finds no relief in the sticky and gooey sugar-ridden morning dessert. Her hotel room serves as her hideaway for the rest of the day. She doesn't let the cleaning lady in and only cracks the door open when the deliveryman drops her lunch off. He flirts with her and compliments her hair, but she doesn't even realize he's speaking.

Hours pass slowly after that, minute after long minute tick by like days as she brings that solitaire back out and plays until the sunlight outside goes to dim for her too make out the symbol and color of the cards. She never thinks to turn on a light.

She barely slept last night so her better judgment tells her she should be tired, but she just can't get to sleep. She finally remembers seeing a large deck on the back of the hotel, stretching a good fifty yards from one end to the other. Ten minutes after midnight she finds herself walking aimlessly across the slick boards that created a sturdy veranda.

She walks back and forth for hours, just thinking. Her mind has wavered between thoughts of work, family, her enemy and her love. It's cold and the breeze has relentlessly blown mists of seawater on her bare arms. The water smells like salt and it sticks to her bare arms like syrup.

One foot moves carelessly in front of the other, and the smooth surface of the deck causes her foot to slip and, in turn, throws her entire body off balance. She realizes how weak she's gotten when the fall shakes her whole body and scrapes her hands roughly on the hard wood. She spills the cup of coffee she'd been carrying and she slowly picks up the cup with the remaining lukewarm mixture inside.

She finds it ok to hate the world tonight, since the world seems to hate her too.

She sits up and folds her legs together on the wet and dirty wood of the deck. A tears slides down her cheek, lost and unseen in the spray from the deep blue sea. She stays there, yet she's miserable in her current position. She starts to think about going back to her room and changing her clothes, but she knows she couldn't bring herself to take off the shirt and pants she's wearing now.

It was the t-shirt and pants Gibbs had picked out for her a few days ago. She did have to admit that he had good taste; it was her favorite pair of jeans and the shirt had been very loved by her for a few years now. She liked knowing he had picked it out, even if it had been one of the first things in her drawer. Wearing this outfit makes her think part of him is with her.

Not that she wants him here; she really doesn't. But she likes thinking of him when she's alone. On occasion, she likes to think about how nice it would be to have him hold her and kiss her and always be there. She never has to just make up what the first two would feel like, not now.

She remembers everything about his body. The feel of his chest pushed against her own, the way his lips sucked sweetly at the soft and youthful skin on her neck, and most importantly the pure pleasure of the moment. And even though he had left her broken, she would always have fond memories of their kiss.

He might have left her alone that night to pick up the pieces of her broken vase and her torn heart, but she eventually understood that he only wanted the best for her. She would have loved it if he hadn't walked out of her apartment so many nights ago, she would have loved for him to just stay a little while longer, but it was for the best.

Though she likes to think that part of him wanted to stay.

She shivers for what seems like the hundredth time and lets just a few more tears trickle down her cheek. Somewhere in the back of her head she thinks that she's bound to get a horrible cold from sitting out in all this chilly and wet weather. She hugs her legs closer to her body and rests her head on her knees.

She feels the water sink through her clothes and shivers helplessly in the wide expanse of the bitter night.

She sits there for so long that her fingers have started to turn blue and her lips have started to stick to each other. Her body is frozen and she's been shivering for so long she's not sure that she can do anything else. That same old breeze is blowing water against her face and it seems like it just keeps finding more places to chill her body.

She has no idea why she doesn't get up and go back to her warm room. Part of her wants to be cold and miserable, wants to feel terrible for a while in hope that good will have to come after that. If you hit rock bottom, somehow things have to get better. She'd give just about anything for a fresh cup of coffee and a familiar voice right now. Sometimes she's just not willing to go out and find what she's looking for.

She only gets up when she realizes the sun is beginning to rise and the light rays have started to warm her cold skin. Then she gets up and stands there, watching the waves hit the beach and the sun come up behind them. It is the peace she needed and the tranquility she been trying to find all night.

Sometimes you have to breakaway for a while and not see the sunrise, but _feel_ the sunrise.

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With a cold cup of coffee in her hand, she wonders if he even realized she's gone.

It had been another whole day and night with the same routine as the rest. Sit around and mope because she doesn't want to cry anymore. It wasn't that Ari had kidnapped her, or that Gibbs had frayed her heart; it was the immense loneliness and lack of human contact. She is a very social person, and being so alone is quickly wearing her down.

Except she can't stand to be near someone and have to face the disappointment she feels in herself.

She'd had another night of tossing and turning around in her bed, sleep coming only when she passed out from exhaustion. But she'd still woken up after that, when dark flesh and dark eyes had crept into her dreams and caused chaos in her subconscious. It had been the second bete noire since he'd taken her the first time, and it scared the crap out of her just as much as it did the first time.

The eyes had been kind, but the face was cold and malevolent in dark lighting and eerie sounds. A smooth and silky British accent had whispered sweet words of fondness and affection. Rough hands had held her still against his strong body and lips had been brought dangerously close to her own. The jagged feel of his face had touched the very soft and delicate skin of her cheek. It had been so real and so alluring in a horrifying kind of way.

She'd woken up with a start and been terrified to close her eyes again for the rest of the night. When she needed a familiar voice, she called Abby. Except she had forgotten that most people weren't awake at two in the morning, and had hung up the phone before the answering machine started. But realizing people slept at night made her mind wander into thoughts of calling them to hear their voices on their answering machines, especially her superior.

She'd started to feel a little stupid and girly when she'd picked up the phone and began to dial the very familiar number. Back in high school she'd done this a dozen times, but had hung up the second she'd heard whoever-it-was's voice. She had no intension of hanging up when she hears Gibbs' voice; she plans in basking in the tone and pitch of every single little word on the answering machine recording. It rings three times before the machine picks up the call and he begins to talk. "This is Gibbs. Leave a message." She had to laugh just a little at how informal the message was.

It was perfectly him.

But that had been last night, and now she couldn't remember the reason she giggled and why, for just a minute, she'd been almost happy. She is miserable and depressed again, emotional and weak because she's not strong enough to deal with this herself. He'd told her that before and told her she had no one else, and he hadn't been more right. She hadn't called her sister or one of her brothers, she hadn't tried to contact her mother and father and tell them that all she really wanted was a hug; she'd called Gibbs and listened to a recording. She hated him dearly for getting so close to her and too close to her heart without her even knowing it; but she still wanted him and still loved him just a tiny bit.

Her aunt always told her the Todd women only knew two things when it came to men: Love and Hate, and there was no in between and you could only pick one. But with Gibbs she can never pick just one. And she has every right to flip between loving and hating the man, because she still has her mother's blood running through her body and her mother could never make a decision.

So she still keeps her little crush on him hidden deep down in her heart, just incase she wants to like him again.

She'd had little crushes before, with her brother's friends, a cute guy she knew, an attractive co-worker with a nice smile, or the occasional older man. She'd always been quick and flighty with relationships, though, so even if she makes moves it's only for a short fling. Except she's not a giddy little girl with a crush on her teacher this time; she's a woman with a fond admiration of someone special that just happens to be her boss.

An exceptionally good-looking boss.

For some reason after all of her thoughts about him, she really wants to hear his voice again; rich and deep, tickling and playing with the sensitive area of her ears. 'Grab your gear' and 'we're working late' would sound good to her right now. After only five days away, she misses work, and most especially him.

She looks over at the phone sitting on the nightstand beside the bed and she begins to think about actually calling him and listening to him and not his recorded voice. She sets the coffee down beside the telephone and reaches out to pick it up.

It wouldn't be a bad idea to call him and just listen to his voice again. She wouldn't have to talk at all, just be extremely quiet and listen to him answer the phone and say hello a few times. It wouldn't hurt anyone, just help her feel better. She could forget about him after that and go on with her vacation; she just needed a little taste of what she'd left behind. All she wants is a tiny bit of the drug Jethro Gibbs is to her.

She slowly dials the familiar number, praying that he's home and that he would answer his phone just this one time. She thinks about her decision to call him one more time, knowing once she presses 'talk' there's no way out. Some part of her is begging her to hang up the phone now and prove that she doesn't need him; but another, much smaller, part of her is begging to hear his voice just one more time; to know he's still there and maybe waiting for her.

Except she found out a long time ago that she's always setting herself up for failure. She knows full well that men have a tendency to break her heart, and she has an even greater tendency to break theirs. And with Gibbs, someone will end up with a broken heart, whether she wants to admit it to herself or not. It's just one of those facts people hate.

She'll have to give up the dreams of a happy little romance with a silver haired fox; she'll have to stop being so hooked on those stares he occasionally gives her, and she'll most definitely have to give up the silly thoughts of him ever loving her. Frivolous wants and desires of something you can't have only hurt you.

Jethro Gibbs is something she can't have, and it's killing her to realize that.

Her hand loosens its grip on the telephone and she slips it back into the cradle. She wants to escape the burning in her heart that makes her love him and need him here with her. That's why she drove so far away from everything she knew; she'd just wanted to run away for a while. Denying herself the right to call him is her first step in escaping; it's her first stand against that deep flame that pleads to be set free.

Her fingers curve around the white cordless phone one more time, so very close to the thing she craves so badly. She desperately wants to pick the phone back up, but she pulls her hand away and turns her view to the mirror. She looks like crap and her attitude greatly matches her appearance. She's got deep purple bags under her eyes from serious lack of sleep. Her hair is messy and tangled and greasy from days of not showering. Her clothes are dirty and she knows it and she smells.

She looks like a homeless person with lip-gloss.

She wants a drink really bad. Alcohol is something she doesn't like to indulge in, because she gets stupid and does stupid things when she's extremely drunk; and when she gets drunk it's only to get extremely drunk. But to go out and get drunk she'll want to look good.

After searching through her bag she finds a brush and a decent outfit. She very hurriedly takes a shower and rinses soap through her hair and over her body a few times. The brown skirt and white top she dug out of her suitcases slips on nicely and looks equally good on her thin frame. She dries her hair and brushes out the knots and kinks then applies a fresh and simple coat of makeup to her clean face, especially to her eyes.

She stares into the mirror and once again sees the person she's come to know over the years. A familiar face with a sparkle in her eye is looking back at her, hair done up nice, makeup fixed tastefully, and appropriately dressed for the occasion. She thinks she looks good without a man at her side, and little "miss independent" is starting to come back.

She might be a mess inside, but she can get over it for now. She'll be better when she's drunk beyond control; she'll be better when an attractive guy buys her a drink; she'll be better when her stupid self-discipline and sensible thought processes are gone; she'll be better when she can't remember the name Jethro Gibbs.


End file.
